Burn Out
by Linorea
Summary: Paul Stamets is not without emotions, not at all. And sometimes, it is just too much.


**Warning : I am french and I probably did not saw all the mistakes, so, be nice, please ^^ Writing in english is an exercise I wanted to try.**

 **Disclaimer : I do not own Star Trek, this is pure fun.**

 **Burn out**

The cup was shaking in his hands. He took a sip, nearly spilling the hot beverage. Sitting at his desk, he was watching the white wall, above his bunk. Maybe he would put something there, a painting, something. If he lived long enough. He let his eyes find the picture on his desk. Will he be alive next week? Was it worth it to personalize the place, to feel home? That ship was no home to him, a work place at best, filled with hostile faces and commanded by a lunatic.

The door rang and Paul jumped, spilling coffee on his hand. He hissed and put the cup on the desk. Who dared disturb him in his quarters at this hour? It was nearly midnight and he was there for only one hour, two maybe, he could not really say. He lay for a while on his bed, trying to let the oblivion take him, turning and thinking.

But he could not sleep and decided to drink some coffee, maybe read something, work a little. No, he made a mistake today in his calculations, he should not work when he was in that febrile state. What was happening to him, he has raised the temperature of the room already and could not stop shaking. Was he sick?

The door chimed again. If he did not answer, maybe whoever it was would go away. Or not. The door opened.

– What the…?

The nerves that guy has.

Paul got on his feet, not really understanding why the man he could not stand was in his quarters.

– Lieutenant.

– Captain, what…

He tried to compose himself, not moving.

– What the hell are you doing in my quarters? We saw each other, what, three hours ago? Do you need me that much?

– If I could see you less, I would, believe me. But I'm sorry to say you are the only fungus expert available.

Paul paled considerably. He took a step, standing in front of Lorca. He could not believe what that man just said.

– Of course I am the only one! Alive that is!

– Calm down, lieutenant, I did not come here to start a fight.

– Well, you are doing quite a good act, then. I would like to rest, to breathe without you jumping unannounced in my quarters.

– I…

– What? What do you want!

Why was he so pissed? The captain was his insufferable self, nothing more, nothing less. He usually could keep a a more calm facade. Even when Lorca insulted him, his work, even the death of his only friend. He would usually bite back.

But now, he was overwhelmed, without even knowing why. And he could not stop shaking.

– Enough, lieutenant, said Lorca with a commanding voice.

He got around Paul, looking around and said :

– I wanted to talk about your work with the creature.

– Can't it wait tomorrow?

Paul asked that with a more subdued voice. He was so tired, he did not want the man to see him like that, not capable of mastering his futile emotions. What was he doing here at this hour? He knew he was not on shift. Was it a new way to torture him? No, he did not like the man but he was sure he was not some kind of sadist. Maybe he really had some questions that deserved immediate answers. Well, by the captain point of view at least.

– Stop whining, we're at war, lieutenant.

– You are for sure.

There he was angry again. And it was so hot in here, Was he not cold before? He could not remember.  
– I am not a soldier.

Lorca hit the desk with his palm, hard.

– Yes, you are!

And then, all went to hell. The picture, the only one he had in his quarters, the only one he had of better times, fell from the desk, shattering on the ground. Paul lost it then, without warning, pushing Lorca, his captain, out of the way and falling on his knees.

– Get out. He succeeds to say between clenched teeth.

His hand was trembling as he gathered the frame, there was glass, but he did not feel the cuts on his hands. He just wanted to put the frame back together, to reassemble the pieces, to resemble the life he had lost.

– Stamets…

The voice was not as harsh as before and if his ears were not sniffling, he would probably have noticed some concern there.

– Get out!

He was desperate now, gripping the glass shards, putting the frame against his heart.  
Lorca said something he could not hear. He was not feeling well. He was hot and cold. Tired and high at the same time. His brain could not supply him with information, he did not understand what was happening to him. Maybe he was going to die. Yes, he was probably having a stroke or something.

And then a hand was on his shoulder, a gentle hand. Not Lorca's then. Where was the captain anyways? What was happening?

Paul lifts his head, Lorca had retreated near the door and doctor Culber was there, tricorder in his free hand, the other still on his shoulder.

– What's with him? He heard Lorca asked, far, far away.

– Please, captain, let me handle this.

Lorca was too happy to complain. He left without a word. And suddenly Paul felt like crying. He would not. Of course. Not in front of the doctor.

– Can you stand? Asked Culber in a nice tone.

No one was ever nice these days, it was so tiring. Did all those people forgot they were alive? He did not answer, looking bewildered in the chief medical officer's direction.

– Okay, Paul. I am going to help you up and to your bed. Is that okay with you?

He was clearly waiting for an answer so Paul gave him a nod. It was enough and Culber took hold of his arm and put him slowly on his feet. He was still shaking and gripping the frame like life itself. Paul was gently directed toward the bed and sat on the edge. After reassuring himself that the scientist will not fall over, the doctor let him go to grab his bag. Why had he his med kit with him ? What did Lorca tell him ? He certainly had had the captain freaked out and that made him smile, despite the circumstances. Culber gave him a strange look.

– Would you let me take that? Said the doctor, pointing the frame.

Paul was ashamed about it, but he kind of panicked there, reinforcing his hold on the object, letting a glass shard cutting through his palm, his respiration fastening. The doctor let out an unprofessional hiss and put his hand on the trembling one of Paul.

– I am not gonna take it, just put it on the bed, can you do that? I just want to heal your hands. You cut them pretty badly, can't you feel it?

Paul looked then. There was blood. He was putting blood on the picture. It was strange though, how he did not feel anything. Maybe he was dead already.

Slowly, he put the frame on the bed. He saw the doctor giving it a quick look before taking one of his hands to close the cut with his surgical pen. It was beginning to hurt a little. Finally. The doctor was conscientious, not saying a word as he worked. The he stand and went to the bathroom, coming back with a soaked towel. Paul let him clean his hands. They were still shaking.

– What's happening to me?

It was the first thing he said since the doctor was there and it startled Cubler a little.  
– What is wrong with me?

– It's okay. Said Cubler, putting a hand on Paul's shoulder. You are tired, it's all. Really, really tired. When did you sleep last?

Paul looked the wall behind the CMO. He could not remember. He slept, he must have, but since the incident with the Glenn, it was nearly impossible to close his eyes without feeling the walls closing on him. It was suffocating.

– Calm down. Breath, Paul.

The scientist tried to calm himself, if only not to make a fool of himself in front of the doctor.  
– I don't understand, they can't stop shaking.

– You need to sleep.

– I can't!

– I am gonna give you something and you will. All will be clearer tomorrow.  
Paul looked at the picture stained with his own blood. If he slept, he would see the torn body of his best friend, he would hear his imaginary cries for help.

– I am sorry for your friend.

It was that. It was all he need to let the sorrow out, choking out a sob. The doctor was the only one who ever said that to him. Of course, other were dead. Other people on the Discovery lost colleagues or friends, but they just assumed he was not touched by Straal's death. They just assumed he was an unfeeling bastard. They did not know anything about him and they just assume.

Cubler pushed him gently on the bed. Paul turned his back to him, watching the white wall, not letting the tears out. He heard the hypospray before feeling it in his neck and slowly he felt himself drift into sleep. A dark one, a safe one. Without dreams and without pain.

Cubler took the frame off the bed, looking at the smiling faces of Paul and Straal. A picture of another time, a time without war. He would clean the blood of the picture and synthesize another frame. And when the scientist will wake up the next day, he would find it, unharmed, on his bedside table.

The end.

 **Note : We do not know if Cubler and Stamets are together yet so I went with a no. We will see in the next episodes.**


End file.
